


Itsy Bitsy

by barbaricyawp



Series: Along Came a Spider [1]
Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Venom (Movie 2018)
Genre: Alley Sex, Dubious Consent, M/M, Monsterfucking, Multi, Rough Sex, Tentacle Monsters, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-09 20:06:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16456394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbaricyawp/pseuds/barbaricyawp
Summary: In which Venom has been stalking Spider-Man for the past few months, and finally caught him.Absolute trash. Nothing but smut.





	Itsy Bitsy

**Author's Note:**

> Let me be clear: Peter Parker is an adult in this. In my mind, he is an undergrad at Columbia, studying microbiology or photography or whatever. Adult man.
> 
> Still much too young for Eddie, probably.

Peter hits the ground hard, hard enough that his ribs reverb and his teeth chatter together. Big ouch. He can feel, actually feel, the temperature of the blood in his head as it rushes in his ears and trickles down his forehead.

Down his forehead.

Huh, weird, and _yup_ he’s bleeding. Great, just great. Now he’ll have to explain this to his RA who is _definitely_ suspicious that Peter’s in an abusive situation. And he’ll have to explain to her _again_ that he fell off his skateboard (or something) and the headwound definitely isn’t inflicted by a mysterious alien creature that ritualistically stalks Spider-Man through the night, every night, for the past month.

So, yeah. Like he said before: Great, just great.

Peter squints up through the mesh screen of the mask, trying to make out where the creep crawls. The alleyway is dark, very dark. Deep in the neighborhoods around Queens, there are not as many streetlights as there should be in this part of the city. And Peter’s suit tech is down. The AI is completely offline; he’s lost his night vision, his specs, those little lit up boxes that yammer off all the usual information that Peter always ignores…Gone totally dark.

He’s completely blind.

So, he can’t see Venom oozing down the wall. Can’t see the arachnid crawl of its many black tendrils. Can’t see it coming.

Oh, but he _feels_ Venom.

Especially when Venom curls a tendril around Peter’s ankle, and abruptly lifts him by the ankle, toppling him upside down and hung there. The split second before it plucked him off the ground, Peter closed his eyes; he knew what was coming the moment he felt it around snake around his ankle.

Shit, maybe that’s a lie. Maybe he anticipated this when he crawled out his dorm window two hours ago. He knew what was waiting for him in the dark. Didn’t he?

“Spider-Man,” Venom sighs, a polyvocal gurgle. “There you are.”

A limb, broad as Peter’s thigh, slinks around his waist. It binds his arms to his sides as it tightens snugly. The pressure isn’t so bad. And...well, it’s warm, Peter notes with some surprise. It’s warm, and it eases the pressure of Peter’s weight off his ankle.

But it’s also holding him in place. An indominatable force, like gravity. Trapping him there.

Peter swallows thickly, more scared than he’d like to admit. He gives a helpless squirm against Venom’s grip, but it only increases his fear; he’s totally immobilized. Up here, Peter can thrash and kick and punch until he’s weak with exhaustion. It wouldn’t do any good. No matter how hard he struggles.

He still can’t even see Venom.

But he remembers the way that its long, strange tongue looks. Has seen it drag over Venom’s shoulder as it chases Spider-Man on all fours through the city. Peter can identify the feel of it as it licks along his temples, the wet of saliva seeping through the mask.

“He’s bleeding,” Venom murmurs to itself, barely a whisper. “I told you not to be so rough on him.”

“Hey,” Peter warbles, “…you. Venom. You.” It’s as if he’s having an aneurism. “Uh, how’s it going? Good to see you again...uh...buddy. It’s been too long. Hey, so, do you think you could let me down? Soon? Please? Because I—”

Venom doesn’t wait for him to finish before it’s lifting Peter up, up, up high and _oh my god_ Venom is huge. Peter didn’t realize just how high it towered until he’s hung upside down at what he can only assume is eye level with the guy. Alien. Guy.

Venom appears before him suddenly. The dark of its face just a dim outline in the distant streetlight. Venom is a vague figure, like something crouching in a closet or skulking over some rooftop. So indistinct, that it might not even be real. Still too hard to make out.

Teeth. All Peter can see is teeth.

”Woah, hey there. Yup, that’s, uh...pretty scar—“

A hand, human in shape but not in color or texture, presses to the mask over Peter’s mouth. Venom hushes him, a loud static rasp.

“He talks a lot,” Venom hums to itself, “Doesn’t he?”

Peter opens his mouth to object, but Venom continues on as if he isn’t there. 

“I like it. Let him talk,” a voice says, still polyvocal, but from somewhere within Venom. Strange.

The stalk suspending Peter’s body by the ankle sprouts thinner tendrils, slender enough to creep through the mesh of his suit. Once inside, Venom spreads out over his body, pushing up under the elastic fabric. Long, oily-warm limbs that wrap around his thighs and wander up his chest. They pulse over him, shifting back and forth, not grabbing, but just rubbing the skin there. 

The hand stays over Peter’s mouth, though, even as his breath quickens.

“Can you be quiet, little one?” Venom asks, its voice a low growl that sends electricity up Peter’s spine. “Or can you not help yourself?”

And Peter reckons he doesn’t have much of a choice in this matter—at all—but he gives a shaky little nod. And Venom—

Venom smiles.

Then it melts back into the blackness, laughing to itself. Peter gives a little shiver; not being able to see Venom, not knowing what it’ll do next, only increases how ( _fuck)_ how excited Peter is. Nervous and scared, but maybe also _thrilled_?

What the hell, Parker.

One of the tendrils flexing along Peter’s inner thigh bursts the seam of his suit. Peter can hear the dreadful rip, grating at a high pitch, and he winces. This is going to be embarrassing to explain to Mr. Stark later.

Pouncing, Venom capitalizes on the tear and peels open a long, exposed slit. Its odd tongue comes out again then, searching and tasting along where Peter’s pale skin is exposed. Peter’s body twitches. He tries to snap his thighs closed but can’t; Venom is in the way.

The tongue curls away.

“See what I don’t understand,” Venom says, and Peter swears that it’s a human voice coming from somewhere in there. And a man’s lower lip that drags over Peter’s skin, as he whispers, “Is why you keep coming back out. Seems to us like you want this.”

Peter shudders with shame, thighs clamping together as much as they can. He’s been thoroughly caught.

Venom lowers the hand, and Peter only has a moment to catch his breath, before it grasps the fabric at the small of his back and one-handedly _rips the suit open._

“Hey, man!” Peter hisses, trying to keep his voice at a whisper like he promised, despite the humiliation of his exposure. “Not cool!”

But Venom doesn’t listen. Why would it when it has itself to talk to?

“You owe me,” Venom says to itself, amused, and that is definitely, definitely a man’s voice this time. “I knew he went commando.”

The tendrils inside his suit keep moving, but avoid where Venom has ripped open the suit: Peter’s exposed backside, the shameful hang of his genitals. The touch would be almost chaste, if it weren’t for the human mouth roving along the column of his neck and the inhuman limbs searching his body.

“I just gotta know,” Peter says, gasping. “Is there a person in there? Like, a real person?”

“Not important,” Venom grumbles, its voice losing that tinge of a single man’s, again. “You have more pressing matters to attend to.”

“Pressing matters like what?”

A hand, dry and soft like a human’s, comes up to raise Peter’s chin. Venom’s face is still obscured in the darkness, but his raised face is probably for its benefit and not his own.

“Did you want to get caught? Don’t lie.” Venom ducks forward, pressing a nose to the column of Peter’s throat to inhale deeply. “We can smell it on you.”

“Yes,” Peter squeaks. He’s so fucking scared and can’t get it together. “I wanted to...well, I was kind of looking forward to seeing you. But, yeah. Also that.”

A thick tendril crawls along the cleft of Peter’s backside, just as another skims the tight ring of his nipple. Peter calls out in surprise, and the hand is pressed back against his mouth. Venom is making a low, gurgling sound, and it takes Peter a moment to recognize what the sound is.

Venom is _laughing_ at him.

“You are so sweet,” it whispers, “and small. Like a snack.” 

Fingers, or maybe more tendrils but blunt and soft, find Peter’s entrance. They stroke, almost lazily, in a tight circle around his hole, pressing in just to test the elasticity of the muscle there.

Peter is just beginning to relax, when something wet and flexing eases inside him. Venom’s tongue, he realizes, wriggling in earnest now. That’s Venom’s tongue.

It’s different than having fingers or even a cock in there. A tongue is dexterous, doesn’t just move in and out but back and forth, curling up to find and probe all the places that make Peter sweat.

Holy shit.

“See?” Venom says, withdrawing its tongue with a wet slurp. “You’re sweet even here.”

“Oh my god,” Peter’s voice comes out as a shaking laugh, half hysterical. He feels as if he’s going mad; this is so wild. “How does this feel so good?”

Venom laughs with him. There is a ripple of black oil in the dark, and then Venom nuzzles its toothy face into the inside of Peter’s thigh.

Again, Peter doesn’t have enough time to react before he’s being manhandled into another position, flipped right side up, his arms pinioned above his head. He tests the strength of the tendril binding his wrists together and finds that he can scarcely move. It isn’t like Peter is weak, it isn’t like he hasn’t lifted a crumbled building off himself.

But Venom’s strength is overwhelming, the sheer mass and malleability of the guy makes it impossible for Peter to get leverage, to gain the upper hand. He’s totally helpless as Venom works him open, not even really fucking him yet, but just stretching him open for something bigger.

And it’s good, it’s so good and hot that all his other senses surrender to just this one: pleasure.

“That’s it,” Venom rumbles. “Nice and easy for it, aren’t you? You’ve been wanting this. Craving even.”

Peter whimpers, embarrassed and surprised by the sound—by how he warbles. By how pathetic he sounds, even to his own ears. But it has an effect on Venom; Peter can feel the drool that drips from its mouth, the quickened excited breathing, the way each tendril trembles a little around him.

All at once, the tendrils shove deep into him, slick and rough and _big_ , stroking along Peter’s insides, testing his limits. When he tries to cry out, his mouth is suddenly stuffed full, jaw already aching at the strain.

Venom pets a tendril against his tongue, feeling the bumpy wet texture there. A soft grumble comes from its chest, a sigh.

“Why can’t we keep him?” it grumbles. Almost...petulant? Can something as terrifying as Venom be _petulant_? “You know why,” it settles itself. “We’ll break him.”

Peter tries to make an argument, but his mouth is too full. He flexes his tongue against the appendages, trying at first to push them back out. But Venom makes a low, pleased sound at the friction and Peter is shocked to find that he _likes_ Venom’s arousal. It triggers his own.

So, he lets go.

Peter opens his throat and rubs his tongue and tips his head back and spreads his thighs to just fucking take it. However, Venom wants to give it, whatever Venom wants to give, Peter just has to take it.

Well pleased, Venom palms the base of Peter’s skull, humming. “Little Spider-Man,” it coos, turning Peter’s head from side to side as if examining him. “Itsy-bitsy spider.”

“I’m not that little,” Peter quips. “5’8 is a totally average height.”

He’s talking a big talk, but Peter is hot all over, crammed full and humiliated as he is. He’s hard, the kind of hard that hurts and sets his limbs to shaking, and Venom hasn’t even touched him there yet.

“Sweet tiny thing,” Venom hushes a damp whisper against Peter’s neck. That tongue curls around his throat. Peter feels it flex against his adam’s apple when he swallows.  “I could eat you in one bite.”

Peter’s body seizes, all at once, he’s ready to come, but something—another black tendril—grips him by the base of his cock, and he’s sobbing because it’s _just not fair._

And Venom is withdrawing the tendrils from Peter’s throat and inside him and, for a horrible moment, Peter thinks it’s going to leave him there like that. Desperate and leaking and actually fucking _crying_ with how much he wants it.

“Please,” Peter rasps, throat wrecked from Venom’s exploration there. “You can’t just leave me here like this. Come on. Please, _please_.”

Venom considers this for a moment, that low chuckle bubbling from its chest again. “Alright,” it says, “We won’t.”

Before Peter can even blink, Venom slams him up against the wall and it’s a good thing Peter is so flexible, because he’s all folded up in half with his knees up to his ears and his arms bound above his head. He has to take a moment to appreciate how he’s really and totally pinned at Venom’s mercy.

Tendrils, more tendrils (where does this guy even get so many tendrils?) wrap around him. They pull at his cheeks and rim, spreading him wide, too wide, no way anything that wide will ever fit inside of him.

Venom seems to notice Peter’s flexibility, because it murmurs, “Bendy,” with near-reverence and definite interest, before pushing into Peter, into the open gape it has created.

No way around it: Venom’s cock is a fucking _monster_ and Peter finds that his body is trembling all over, as if in shock. He spasms uncontrollably around the intrusion and hyperventilates, certain it won’t all fit into him, even as it _just keeps going._ Doesn’t stop. And just when Peter thinks he can’t possibly take anymore, Venom manages to shove more in. Stretch him wider. Make him take more.

And still, through all of this, Peter hears himself begging. “Please, please, please,” and “more, more, more,” even as he feels as if he’s gonna rip in two. Even as he feels he might really, actually go insane from this. 

Venom must bottom out then because it stops moving, its hips pressed flush against Peter. Then, it goes still. Waiting. 

“Come on,” Peter needles. “Come on, _move,_ please. Come _on_!” 

And Peter is making a mess of himself, squirming and carrying on like this with his suit torn to shreds from the inside-out, sweating and cock leaking everywhere. But he _doesn’t care_ because none of it matters when Venom starts moving inside of him, the stretch and burn so good now _._ All he cares about is the sweet grind inside him, the press of many, many limbs wrapped tight around him—around his ankles and biceps and chest and neck—and Venom’s hot breath against his face. It’s all around him now, all consuming.

His orgasm is impending, a huge tidal wave that Peter suddenly realizes he’s not ready for. Some, illogical part of his brain believes that he might actually break apart if he comes now. Like his body isn’t big enough for how much Venom is forcing it to feel. He battles it, desperately trying to hold off.

“Shh,” Venom gentles. Its hand cups Peter’s cheek, thumb and knuckles giving it a squeeze. “Just let us take care of you. Let it go.”

And so Peter gives over, he comes, and the orgasm rattles him from the inside out. The kind of orgasm that obliterates any sense and leaves him strung out and twitching in the aftershocks.

He’s speechless, totally insensible when Venom snarls, hauls itself flush against Peter, and comes in hot spurts deep inside him. When it pulls out, the come drips down his thighs. Gooey.

“Woah,” he says intelligibly after they’ve both come. And then once more, just in case Venom hadn’t heard it the first time, “Woah.”

Venom lowers him then to the ground, gently but doesn’t bother to arrange him in any dignified manner; Peter ends up face down, one knee under him and the other splayed akimbo. But it drapes a coat, a man’s denim jacket, over him.

“See you tomorrow night,” Venom sighs. And it leaves Peter alone in the alley.

 

**Author's Note:**

> There might be more of this, there might not.
> 
> You can find me at barb-aricyawp.tumblr.com

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Along Came A Spider - Illustration (NSFW)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18447689) by [SubverbalDreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SubverbalDreams/pseuds/SubverbalDreams)




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